


Blood lust (A.K.A. Mycroft plans everything)

by julietterocher (orphan_account)



Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Vampire, Blood Donation, Blood Drinking, Gen, Mycroft Being Mycroft, Vamplock
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-08-24
Updated: 2015-07-30
Packaged: 2018-02-14 13:11:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,823
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2193066
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/julietterocher
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When Mycroft needs blood, his personal assistant donates. When Sherlock needs blood, he contacts Mycroft. Mycroft decides to find someone to donate for his little brother. Someone not easily scared. Someone who won't faint at the sight of blood. Cue a certain Ex-Army doctor.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 8 Pints

Mycroft sorted through the papers on his lap while dictating more information to his secretary, Anthea, who was typing it up in a short hand of her own invention on what appeared, for all intents and purposes, to be a Blackberry.

“And the Spanish ambassador can't sit next to the Italian ambassador, so the seating plan need to be completely rearranged.” Mycroft looked almost crushed at this detail. His assistant simply smiled a little and pulled up the seating plans, adding to the notes. “I can put their wives between them, that means the French ambassadors wife is next to the Spanish ambassador… she doesn’t speak fluent Spanish, so that won't work… I'll sort it for Monday.”

She shook her head and closed the file, pulling up a calendar in its place, only for a bell to ring out shrilly, bouncing off the plush interior of the car and echoing around the enclosed space. None of the occupants flinched at the shriek, Mycroft simply pressing a button on his phone, silencing the noise. Anthea switched her phone to vibrate and put it away.

“Eddie, screen please” The driver responded to her quiet instruction, pressing the button to make the opaque screen slide into place between the driver and his passengers. As the mechanism clicked into place the secretary unbuttoned the top two buttons of her blouse and moved her hair to the side, allowing her employer to pull her closer to him and bite through the scarred skin of her neck. She settled against him as he sucked the warm, clean blood from her throat, relaxing as he became less tense as his hunger was sated.

The politician was trying his best to restrict the amount of blood he took, but he had been away for days, and was quite hungry, so when he finally stopped taking blood, his donor had fainted. It wasn’t a new occurrence, so he just pulled the blanket from under the chair, tucked it around her where she led across his knee, and cleared up the bite mark on her neck.

When the car stopped, she shifted into his lap more, murmuring as she woke up. “Sleeping… Mr Holmes?” She pushed off his knee to sit up, and he held his arm to assist her. “It's my fault, my dear, I apologise, I was hungrier than I thought. You can stay here, I'll go into the meeting alone.”She settled back as he stood and left the car, relaxing into the seat and snuggling back against the warm leather, pulling her blanket tighter around her shoulders as she watched him enter the Diogenes club.

She awoke a little as a shadow detached from the wall and followed her employer into the building, taking her Blackberry out and sending a quick text to Mycroft's phone.

_Your brother is following you. A_

She grinned a little at the response.

_Please find him a donor. MH._

The only reason Sherlock ever voluntarily contacted his brother was when he needed to feed and couldn't be bothered to find a supply of his own. She took out a box from beneath her seat and began to extract blood for Sherlock, carefully monitoring the amount so as not to faint again. She set a reminder on her phone to get herself hooked to an IV fluids line once they were back at the office.

Once she had enough for Sherlock to collect, Anthea thought about how to find someone who wouldn't panic at the thought of donating blood to a vampire, a species the world viewed with disgust and often terror, startling slightly as her phone vibrated again.

_Perhaps some sort of doctor? MH._


	2. The Perfect Partner

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Usual disclaimer, I don't own Sherlock. If I did, there would be much more kissing and much less Mary.

The interview went well. A

You think he will do? MH

I think he is the perfect donor for your brother. Perfect partner too. A

Meaning? MH

He's an adrenaline junkie with caring tendencies. Healthy enough to donate and lonely enough to accept the position. A

Pick him up. MH

~

"Dr Watson? I have a job for you.'' Anthea smiled, knowing the image she portrayed. Weak, gentle, completely submissive. Easy to overpower, easy to outwit. A good image. One she used often with men like John Watson. Men who thought of themselves as honorable, and dependable. Easy to manipulate.

He took one slow look at her, up and down, lingering slightly on the painted red smile, the shiny black stilettos. His eyes snapped back to hers the second he realised he was taking too long. A lonely man. He steeped easily into the car, resting his weight on his right leg more than his left. Anthea filed that away for later scrutiny. His file showed no history of injury in that leg. Possibly a physical manifestation of PTSD. 

She slid silently into the leather seat beside him, tapping on the partition to signal the driver into action and going back to her Blackberry. There was a conversation, but she paid little attention, giving polite responses when necessary to fool Watson into thinking she was paying him more attention than was required to make sure he didn't reach for the illegal unregistered gun in his waistband.

~

The peace and gravitas of the Diogenes club startled him into acquiescence as Anthea led the way through the oak-paneled hallways, her heels barely making a sound on the carpeted floors while his dragged across the fibers, loud in the silence. He took the seat she offered, declined the drink, and stayed still and rigid throughout her explanation of the supernatural world. 

After explaining the job to the doctor, Anthea let him alone. Still skeptical, but more and more open to the idea. She nodded once to Sherlock as she left the office, and he quickly slipped through the door as it shut behind her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Not sure if I want to continue this, or if I can write Sherlock anywhere near in character, so let me know if there's any interest for more of this, or if i'm doing anything wrong with the characters. Please?  
> I'm http://introace.tumblr.com/ on Tumblr if you want to come cry with me.


	3. Love Bites

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Still don't own anything.

Anthea smiled to herself, watching from the car as the two men, one tall and dark haired, one shorter and blonde, walked out of the club and hailed a taxi. She reached for her phone, sending a quick text. 

Dr Watson and your brother have left the club. A

Take the blood to baker street. Supervise the first feed. MH

She put the phone on the seat beside her and tapped the driver's partition. He turned to get the address before setting off in the same direction as the taxi.  
~  
''Mr Holmes?'' Anthea paused by the open door to the apartment, listening to the sounds of a kettle being boiled. Sherlock appeared from the kitchen, arms full of test tubes and chemical bottles. ''Huh? Did Mycroft send you? Did you bring blood?'' he dropped the glassware into a cardboard box, where it clinked and tinkled itself into silence as he shifted pieces around to make it all fit. Anthea held out the bag of blood, and he grabbed for it with both hands, pupils dilating at the sight. His eyes flashed to her neck, to the scars, before he pulled himself together and fixated back on the bag in his hands. 

''What is- is that blood? Did you rob a blood bank?'' The doctor's eyes switched between Anthea's face and the bag of blood in Sherlock's hands. 

''No. Blood bank blood has chemicals in that make it undrinkable. This is her blood.'' Sherlock explained absentmindedly as he wandered back into the kitchen to grab a cup. He thoughtlessly tipped the teabag out of Dr Watson's cup onto the counter, pouring the blood in to it and taking a long drink, almost draining the cup.

The doctor's eyes slammed back to Anthea, who lifted her hair to the side to reveal the scars on her neck. ''I don't mind it. Doesn't hurt anymore.'' She smiled a little, remembering the first few times, the sharp pain before the rush of endorphins from Mycroft's fangs. John picked up on her words. ''Anymore? It hurts?'' Sherlock stopped in his attempts to squeeze the last few drops of blood out of the bag at the sound of the panic in his voice. ''Only a bit. Like a scratch. An injection. And then- my- there are chemicals, I make chemicals to make you feel better about it, it'll make you tired and calm... sort of a relaxant. It's difficult to measure.'' Here he subsided into mutters, frowning at the idea of an unknown. 

Anthea interrupted his thoughts as he glanced back at the empty blood-bag again. ''You're still thirsty?'' He nodded at her a little, before going back to his pacing.  
''Isn't that what I'm here for?'' John looked a little unsure, but determined to go through with it. Sherlock spun on his heel, curls bouncing as he fixed his gaze on the soft skin of John's neck. Anthea interrupted as he took a step forwards.

''Maybe not while he's stood up?'' The admonishment made Sherlock blink for a second, before he grabbed John's wrist, careful to avoid placing his fingers over the radial artery and the blood thrumming under the skin there.

Once Sherlock was settled on his bed, Anthea instructed John how to lie, and explained where the bite would be. She stepped to one side to allow Sherlock to curl in, over John's neck, and listened to the sharp inhale that accompanied the bite.


	4. Blue Silk and Tangled Curls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't own anything.
> 
> This chapter is for Wisteria22, with the promise of future Johnlock.

Anthea left the room while Sherlock fed, listening to the sucking sounds while tidying the kitchen, re-boiling the kettle and helping herself to a drink of orange. After she'd used litmus paper to check it really was orange juice. She'd just finished wiping the surfaces down when Sherlock tapped her on the shoulder, still licking blood from his lips, dressed in a thin blue dressing gown over his usual shirt trousers and ridiculously expensive silk shirt.  
''I'm done. He's shaking. Make him stop. And he tastes better than you do. Why is that?''  
''Let's not get into that right now. That is a conversation you need to have with him first. I moved your stuff around in the kitchen-''  
'' -You did what?'' he almost knocked her over as he swirled past her, dressing gown flashing out around him. Now that he was distracted, Anthea went to see John.  
He was still shaking, curled up in a ball on the bed, a blanket draped over him loosely, clearly Sherlock's attempt at stopping the shakes. As he heard her heels on the carpet he tried to sit up, swaying slightly. She took a quick step forwards to grab his upper arms and steady him.  
''I'm fine- I'm- fine-you're blurry.'' He tipped his head at her, his eyes slightly unfocused.  
''yeah, yeah, ok. Maybe lie back down.'' She helped him to settle further back into the centre of the bed, and covered him a little more with the blanket. She lifted his head and tucked a pillow underneath it, making him whine a little as the healing bite mark was stretched.  
''Shh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean to hurt you... right.'' She reached into her jacket pocket, pulling out a tiny packet of antibacterial wipes and wiping the bite mark clean. As the endorphins left his skin, he began to sober up, wincing at the sting of the disinfectant.  
''Ow. When you said hurt a little bit- that hurt. A lot.'' He poked at the healing bite mark, the chemicals in Sherlock's saliva healing the skin faster than usual, leaving two tender, pale, scars slightly raised against the tanned skin of his neck. Anthea smirked at his cautiousness.  
''Payback for the number of times doctors have told me it'll just be a scratch. Stay here, don't stand up, I'll get you a drink. Prepare yourself for a lifetime of drinking nasty chemical energy drinks. And saline IV's.'' She left him looking at the scars in Sherlock's mirror and went to get the carton of orange and a glass, ignoring the muttering and glaring coming from Sherlock as he tried to put his kitchen/laboratory back to normal. Glancing around the mess that had been restored, Anthea figured she had another ten, fifteen minutes to get John feeling better, longer if Sherlock got distracted by an experiment.  
John drank two glasses of orange, looking more and more stable as he did so. Finally Anthea was satisfied with his ability to sit up without wobbling and let him walk the ten steps to the bathroom to look at his new scar in the big mirror. Where he collapsed.  
''Sherlock-'' The crash of John knocking bottles off the sink as he fell and his yell brought Sherlock rushing out of the kitchen, a whirlwind of blue silk and tangled curls. He opened the hallway door to the bathroom to find John led on the floor, his head in Anthea's lap, her rubbing a salve into the new bruise on his forehead.  
''Get off my- my- my John. He's mine. You can't have him.'' Pouting like a child looking at his favourite toy in another's hand, Sherlock sat opposite Anthea, long legs crossed, and tugged John's head from Anthea's lap to his own. The stunned, weakened John just frowned a little at the rough treatment and burrowed his face into the blue silk of Sherlock's stomach. Anthea left them to it.


	5. Home at Last

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I still don't own anything.   
> This chapter is a little different to the others, but bear with me on this. And I figured Anthea needed some time to herself after the day she's had.

She slid across the custom leather of the unassuming black car, quickly told the driver to take her to home, after a glance at the dark sky littered with stars, and unlocked her Blackberry. She opened a text to Mycroft.

First feed complete. A

She kicked off her heels, tucking her stockinged feet up onto the chair beside her, relaxing into the warmth of the heated seat, waiting for the soft vibration that signalled an incoming text.

He's still alive, then? MH

Of course. Sherlock is quite taken with him. A

As expected. MH

Anthea smiled at the smug tone of the printed letters and tucked her phone away, allowing her eyes to slip closed as the car drove through quiet streets.

She woke up almost an hour later at a gentle tap from the driver.

''Miss. We're here.'' He smiled a little as she stretched out in the cramped interior of the car, pointing and flexing her toes. She ducked down a little to collect her shoes and wrinkled her nose at the thought of putting them back on, before deciding not to. She stepped out of the car onto the paved drive up to her house and turned back to the driver.  
''Thank you, Eddie. I know it's been a long day.''

He nodded in acknowledgement and she shut the door behind her and set off up the path.

~

She leant against her front door as she shut it behind her, sighing as she relaxed against the wood. She slid a little on the polished wooden floor as she walked towards the kitchen, and stopped for a second to reach up under her black pencil skirt and unclip her stockings, rolling them down her legs and slipping them into her jacket pocket as she turned the corner into the kitchen. 

Opening the glass-fronted wine cooler, she chose a bottle of strawberry flavoured rosé and took a step back, letting the door swing closed and hoisting herself up to sit on the island counter, swinging her legs as she poured herself a glass of the expensive pink alcohol. Once her first glass was empty she poured herself another, set it down beside her, and swung her legs forwards, using the momentum to tip herself off the white marble counter. 

Once she was in her bedroom she put her wine on the dressing table and dropped her shoes onto the soft white carpet, leaving them there. She emptied her pockets onto the dresser-top, laying her work things; phone, Bluetooth earpiece, and security pass, to one side, and throwing her worn stockings into the laundry basket. 

She unbuttoned her blouse and unzipped her skirt, letting both fall to the floor at her feet. Sighing, she unclipped her bra and let that drop, adding to the pile. Taking a deep breath she stepped out of the pile of clothing and dropped it into the basket with her stockings. she folded her garter belt and put it on the dresser, exchanging it for her glass of wine with one hand as she snagged her fluffy, tattered dressing gown with the other. Tying the belt around her waist with one glass of wine in her hand and another inside her took some manoeuvring, but she managed it. She grabbed her kindle and folded herself into the armchair by the window, using the fading daylight to read as she sipped her wine. 

When the digital clock at the top of her screen clicked over to 9:00, Anthea stood up, reaching up to stretch out her cramped back muscles, and picked up her empty wine glass, leaving her kindle on the chair. Making her way back down the glass and oak staircase to the kitchen she glanced at the food in the fridge and the cupboards before ringing for pizza.


End file.
